


Phobia

by Aaskada



Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaskada/pseuds/Aaskada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being the person with the ridiculous fear, but it could be a lot harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phobia

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a work in progress. I plan for it to remain all one chapter, but I'll keep adding to it until maybe I run out of space.

I glanced up from my book for just a second. After looking back down I froze. My eyes darted up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Everything else faded away and my vision narrowed on Sarah's sweater. It wobbled in my sight for a moment before she was suddenly gone and her sweater with her. But it's still there, I know that. Somewhere off to the side, or behind me. Did the door open? No, she isn't gone, she's still here, it's still here. Everything started to go gray as I tried to find where it'd gone.

By the time I came back to myself Daniel had called 911 and the ambulance had gotten me to the hospital, all set up in a room and all.

I don't know how it started or when. I don't remember ever not being afraid of purple. Yeah, I know what you're thinking.

_'Purple? You're scared of purple?'_

No. Not scared, terrified. Once I see purple I can't see anything else; there's nothing but that color in my sight and I can't stop panicking until well after it's gone or I've passed out from hyperventilating. Maybe I almost suffocated in a purple blanket when I was a baby, or something, but, whatever caused it, now I'm stuck with this crippling fear. Yeah, definitely crippling. I bet you wouldn't realize how much this color is everywhere until you're looking for it; yellow car syndrome, I think it's called. And I'm always looking.

Most people think it's a joke the first time they hear about it. Some of them think it's funny even after I get sent to the hospital because of a panic attack. Like I've told three shrinks, hundreds of hospital workers, and just about everyone else I've ever met—no, I can't control it and, yes, I've tried. I can't just "Get over it" like everyone wants me to. Next person who tells me to gets punched.

The first shrink my parents sent me to tried to do therapy to get me over it. Guy just locked me in a room filled with purple doped up on happy drugs. I thought the room was trying to kill me; made it worse than ever.

The second guy just talked all the time “trying to discover the source of my deep-seated insecurities.” He didn’t make it worse, but it didn’t get better either and I just got fed up with him telling me about my supposed inferiority complex. It was almost like he never even paid attention to the reason I was there.

The last one was a woman instead. She also had an overactive maternal streak and called me things like “sweets” in her southern accent. Wasn’t so bad—but I guess my mom has an inferiority complex, ‘cause she blew up at her about making eyes at my dad and stopped the sessions.

It isn’t any particular shade of purple—I flipped my shit over magenta once—but the ones closer to “purple” purple usually make me panic more. That’s when I can’t calm down ‘til I’ve passed out. Sarah’s sweater was just the right shade to send me to the hospital.

So, yeah, that's it. That's all, really. Don't know why and no one's ever figured it out. Probably won't, either.

Could be worse, I guess. Could be green and I'd have to move to Siberia or the Sahara or something. Could be blue and I'd have to live underground or just never go out. could be brown and I'd just be fucked. How'd a person live, scared of brown? I don't know, but it'd be bad. Maybe worse that literally being scared of your own shadow. So, hey, could be worse.

I get homeschooled and do my work online. Every Monday and Thursday I go to the library because my parents are still holding out hope that I'll suddenly recover from my unfortunate phobia and become a normal, functioning member of society. I'm not convinced it's going to happen, but luckily I like to read. I've gotten pretty good at scanning book covers for the color purple and getting the ones that have it back on the shelf before I panic. The librarians all know who I am now, so that makes things a bit easier. There's probably a part of their training where they learn about the crazy person who hates purple or something.

Thursdays are when the library hosts study groups, which is where I met everyone I'm friends with. I see them other days, too, but it's not like we do much. Movies are hard—I avoid animated movies as a rule; they're more likely to have purple in them in a noticeable way—just getting into the theater can be hard. Sports games are generally risky business and so are the mall, hanging out around town, and going over to someone's house. Being a hermit out in the woods might be easier, but I'd probably end up somewhere with purple wildflowers.

Sarah was new, she didn't know any better, this hadn't happened in a month and my parents had started to get more optimistic than was really warranted. Fuck purple and fuck study groups. Maybe I'll risk the flowers.

Hannah joined the study group in early November because she was failing math and her parents made her. Hannah's favorite color was purple. I'd thought the librarians were warning people about that. Hannah got a tutor at school.

I'm going to see a new shrink now. Somehow I doubt it'll help, but at this point I think I'm only going because it makes my parents feel better. They like to feel like they're doing something to help. They're not.

This one is the seventh and a man. There haven't been any women since the third and I'm really starting to come up with some theories about my mom's complex about other women being in contact with my dad—the evidence seems compelling. I see him every Saturday for an hour and so far he's just asked me to talk about the color purple. What can I say about the color purple? Let's see:

1\. I'm unreasonably scared of it and, no, I don't know why either.  
2\. Um, it's a color? Does that really need to be mentioned?  
3\. I didn't used to be so scared of it, but my first shrink was a dumbass.  
4\. Barney the Dinosaur is purple. Hate that show.  
5\. I can watch Loony Toons and Mickey Mouse, but nothing with Scrooge McDuck.  
6\. Am I supposed to be mentioning memories or something? Was that the point of this exercise? Fuck it, let's do this shit.

For Christmas one year someone gave me a purple teddy bear with a green ribbon around it's neck. I don't remember who it was because I was, like, five and I'm pretty sure it was a family friend or a coworker or something who my parents haven't spoken to since.

I went into shock once when I was eight because I got overwhelmed with purple. That was the reason I started homeschooling.

How long am I supposed to do this? To hell with this.

If only there could be no purple in the world.

I tried wearing a pair of the glasses with tinted lenses once. They were yellow and made everything vomit-colored.


End file.
